Albert shrugged his shoulders as if a home invasion, beating, and kidnapping were all part of his normal routine. "I knew the risks going in, and I believed it was worth it. I still do."
"Thank you." The words were inadequate, but what else could she say? Just getting that out was hard enough with the emotion clogging her throat.
"It's what mentors do. We help you be the best you can be." The timer on his phone went off in a series of quick beeps. He tapped the screen, stood, and crossed over to her. "Speaking of which, tell me about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dashing."
"I don't know where to start." And she didn't. It was like there was more to him than she could put into words.
He turned on the water and removed her plastic cap. "I'd suggest with the belt buckle."
Her cheeks blazed. "Albert!"
He gently pushed her shoulders back so her head was over the tub and used the hand-held shower head rinse her hair clean. "Oh, come on, I can tell by the way you look at each other that you already have."
She closed her eyes to keep out the stray spray of water, but that only made picturing Isaac naked and pressed against the wall easier. In half a heartbeat she could taste him, hear his moan, feel the tremble in his thighs as she'd sucked him deep. That was bad enough. What had her gritting her teeth as water sluiced through her hair was the heavy sense of rightness that wrapped itself around her, as warm and solid as the softest fur.
"He's a distraction." One she couldn't afford.
Albert snorted. "The kind that blazes a route across the country to help rescue Essie, a girl he's never met and has no ties to?"
"He's got a hero complex." A crude description for the bone-deep sense of honor he tried to hide under layers of cheap charm and unceasing flirting. His story about the Marine said it all. He didn't do what was easy. Isaac Camacho always did what was right.
"And you, my dear, have always seen yourself as the villain you never were." He turned the water off and squeezed the water from her hair. "Sounds to me like you're a match made in heaven."
She sat up and took the towel Albert offered to wipe the stray drops of water from her face, letting her damp hair hang like a curtain down her back while she gathered her icy reserves.
She handed back the towel, trying for a smile that almost passed for real. "You're a romantic."
"You don't look this good at 68 unless you believe in a little magic, darling." His words were light, but weariness invaded his eyes and stayed for a few seconds before he chased it away with a pageant-worthy fake smile of his own. "Now come on, time to blow dry. Then it's off to curl up with your white knight for a few hours of beauty sleep."
It was pretty to think so, but no one knew better than she exactly what kind of person she deserved, and it sure wasn't Isaac. She was a bitch. A gold digger. A girl who'd grown up to become exactly the kind of woman her mother had trained her to be. Isaac deserved much better than her.
* * *
Isaac
Waking up at three a.m. hurt a lot more than already being awake at three a.m., but it wasn't the alarm that forced Isaac's eyes open. It was the woman crying on the other side of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom door.
Crying was the wrong word. More like whatever people called that herky-jerky breathing thing women did when they were trying to cry quietly. The first time his sister Leah had her heart stomped on in high school, she'd shut herself in her bedroom and made that sound for hours.
He sat up and whipped off the covers. His feet sank into the thick carpet when he stood up, wearing only his boxers. There was a line of light coming out from under the door. He never made the conscious decision to ask her what was the matter, he just ended up across the room with his palm pressed against the door.
"Tamara, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," her voice was high, strained. "Sorry if I woke you."
He tried the knob. It was locked. "Let me in."
"I'm going to the bathroom." The words came out too shaky to be truth.
"Liar."
"I just need to get myself together." Her voice broke on the last word, but she sounded closer.
He tried the knob again. It was a simple turn lock, the kind he could have popped half drunk and totally blind, but breaking in wasn't the best plan. "Let me in."
"I don't—"
"Darlin', just let me in."